Lady Josephine
by Butterfly Bandage
Summary: People can bond over the strangest things. Kudley.


**A/N:** Written for the Kudley Army because, seriously. Foreman and Thirteen? Ew. Just ew. I'd actually written this back before that horrible incident ever occurred, and I've only just finished it now. So yeah. LOL. There's a bit of subliminal messaging in this. Have fun finding it! =D Plus there is a lot of movie-and-music-talk, which I don't really like that much anymore, but whatever. Enjoy the longest frickin oneshot I've ever written. '

**Summary:** People can bond over the strangest things. KutnerThirteen.

**.:X:.  
lady josephine  
.:X:.**

There was a limit, Thirteen had decided, to how far a person can go before they _really _got on her nerves.

Take House. Perhaps the biggest pain in the ass in the world, this single man could not only irritate six different people—herself, the other three members of the team, Cuddy, _and_ Wilson—in one fell swoop, but he could do it without so much as breaking a sweat. Taub once said sullenly that House's ability to annoy surely must've been given to him by the Devil, because no God could hate humanity thatmuch.

Taub himself was a royal pain as well, but in a different way. Foreman, not so much. Only when he tried bossing them around, even though it was obvious that House was their boss.

But Kutner? He'd brought a whole new level of irritability to the slate lately.

She'd strolled into the doctor's lounge, intent on getting herself a cup of coffee after an all-nighter, and immediately spotted the jet-black hair of her teammate sticking up from beyond the nearest armchair. Thirteen frowned. They were still on the clock, and House never took kindly to breaks. Or anything, really, but that was beside the point. After a pause, Thirteen walked around the armchair and took a good long look.

Kutner was sunken into the armchair so far that she was surprised he wasn't gone from the world as he knew it. Eyes closed, clothes rumpled, hair even more unruly than usual, chin against his chest, and iPod earbuds planted firmly in his ears, he hadn't even bothered to take his lab coat off when he plopped down into the chair. The gentle rise and fall of his chest told Thirteen her fellow team member was sleeping.

She rolled her eyes. Only Kutner would fall asleep in the doctor's lounge with music blasting in his ears. For the third time. She leaned over, figuring that if he was really asleep, staring at him until he was morbidly uncomfortable wouldn't work (it had worked many a time prior to this). After a brief moment, she reached out and gently eased the iPod out of his lab coat pocket, glancing at the screen.

Quite frankly, she expected perhaps rap or R&B on his iPod, but as she flicked through it, all she saw was classic rock, alternative, and slightly more modern rock. Mostly the All American Rejects, Bon Jovi (of_ course_; he _was_ from New Jersey…), My Chemical Romance, and Fall Out Boy. Yet despite all his choices, the song he'd been listening to was on repeat—_Shake It _by Metro Station.

Thirteen couldn't help but raise her eyebrows. _Shake It _was one of her favorite songs for reasons she could never entirely explain. Ever since she'd heard the song _Kelsey _she'd been slightly addicted to the band. So why was Kutner listening to it? He didn't strike her as the type. She thought about it for a moment.

After another pause, she reached out and ripped the earbuds out of his ears—hard.

The result was instantaneous. Kutner bolted upright, rubbing his ears and looking dazed. "What the he—oh." He blinked and focused. "Did I fall asleep again?"

"Again," Thirteen clarified matter-of-factly, dropping the earbuds into his lap along with his iPod. "This is the third time. You're lucky_ I_ found you this time instead of House. He probably would've claimed chronic narcolepsy and taken your temperature rectally."

Kutner snorted at the image that'd appeared in his mind.

"Did I m-m-miss anything?" he asked tiredly, trying and failing to stifle a yawn as he stretched. For the first time Thirteen noticed the bags under his eyes as he tried futilely smoothing down his hair.

"Not really," she said, straightening up from the kneeling position she'd assumed when she'd taken his iPod. "House is currently tormenting Cuddy about his cable or something."

"Again?" he asked in disbelief as he tried to get up. His knees wobbled for a second and he plopped down again, sighing and staring at his legs. "Damnit. They fell asleep." He wiggled his left foot, then his right.

"Mm-hmm. Apparently either House never learns or Cuddy never learns."

"As long as she doesn't make every channel the Pottery Channel again," he said, getting up once more. "Ow. Pins and needles." He winced.

Thirteen shook her head. "You'd think a doctor would use a more professional term."

"You'd think." He smiled as he wrapped up the iPod earbuds.

"So," she said conversationally, gesturing to them. "Metro Station?"

The reaction she got was an interesting and wholly unexpected one. Beneath the tone of his skin, she saw the faintest hint of a blush, his dark eyes widened, and he said carefully, "Uh, yeah. New band. You like them?" He slipped his iPod into his pocket and straightened his coat, trying to appear nonchalant.

Thirteen nodded, trying not to laugh at how flustered he seemed. "Is _Shake It _your favorite song?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, but I thought _Kelsey _was good too."

"Oh really." It was more of a statement than a question.

Kutner smiled again. "Yeah. It's a good song."

"So who's your favorite band?"

Yet another smile. "Story of the Year." He started to walk out, and she could hear him singing.

"_Until the day I die…"_

**.:X:.**

"_Well she does it like this, well you do it like that,_" Kutner sang under his breath, tapping his foot as he stirred sugar into his coffee. Thirteen shot him a look. "What?" he asked innocently, grinning and blowing on the mug. "It's stuck in my head."

"It's subliminal messaging is what it is," Taub said sardonically, tapping a pen against his temple and staring at the papers in front of him. "I've heard the song."

Kutner threw a sugar packet at the plastic surgeon, who ducked, looking bored. It bounced off the window and fell to the floor just as House limped in. He stared at it, then looked up, eyebrow raised.

"Well, I've heard of food fights," he said as greeting. "But sugar fights?" He hobbled over to his desk and threw down the files in his hand onto the cluttered surface. Turning around, he leaned against the wood. "Even messier. Everyone knows what sugar does to you."

"It's all in people's heads," Thirteen said tiredly as Kutner took his seat next to her, sipping his coffee. "It's caffeine that does it, not sugar."

"I know," House said, shrugging as if he'd anticipated this reaction. Which, all things considered, he probably had. "But it's fun to mess with mothers who don't know otherwise." He pushed himself off the desk. "Especially when you tell them it makes kids hyper."

"Well, seeing as how four fifths of the overall population of this room would have a hard time becoming a mother…" Taub said pointedly, nodding in the general direction of Kutner, Foreman (who'd been sitting quietly in his seat, trying to ignore the scene unfolding before him as he read a book), and House. "And will you stop _humming?_" He added touchily, glaring at Kutner.

"What?" was the reply, "I told you, it's stuck in my head!"

When House shot them the "explain now" face (and the "I'll eat you alive if you _don't_ explain" face as well) Foreman spoke up as he rolled his eyes. "They apparently like the same song and this is a sign of flirtation. Apparently." He went back to his book.

"C'mon," House said, looking mildly interested. "You guys know the rules. No flirting without me. Especially Thirteen. Girls flirting with other girls are fun to watch."

While Thirteen looked as though she wanted to beat her boss's head with something heavy and blunt but thought better of it, Kutner rolled his eyes and took another long sip of coffee.

"Are you addicted to caffeine suddenly?" Taub said, watching. "This is probably your fourth cup today."

"I'm tired." He didn't snap, exactly, but he did sound irritated. "And why are you up my ass today, anyways? Is being tired a crime now?"

"When you start taking naps during your shift," House said abruptly, and Kutner's eyes widened over the rim of the coffee mug. He placed it down carefully on the table and said even more carefully, "Did anyone die?"

Foreman became even more engrossed in his book. Chase had once given the same exact argument.

It hadn't worked then, either.

Apparently House remembered this too, because his eyebrows knit together. "I could send you home," he mused lightly, taping his cane against the desk as he leaned against it once more. "Or make you stay here for another few shifts."

Foreman sighed. "Cuddy's been through this with you," he said resignedly. "If one of the team is incapacitated—"

"Chronic narcolepsy isn't incapacitated," House shot back, and Thirteen had to duck into her arms to stifle a giggle. Kutner looked as though he too was trying not to laugh. House nodded in his direction. "It's a symptom. What are you taking for the cold?" he said wryly.

Kutner tried to look clueless. "What cold?"

"Iophen?"

"I don't have a cold, House."

"Doxylamine?"

There was a pause, and then Kutner looked sideways before sighing and giving up.

"Just acetaminophen," he said carefully. "Normal fever-suppressant. That's it."

House rolled his eyes. "Like I didn't know that already."

"Knew what it does, or knew what I was taking?" Kutner said, looking suspicious.

"Both," House said snidely. "Go home."

Kutner sighed tiredly and said, "I'm not delirious, I'm not even running a fever right now, I've got enough caffeine in my system to keep up an elephant, I don't see any reason why I can't—" House cut him off. "Don't get me wrong, I know that just fine, being as _astonishing_ as I am. And believe me; you _would _be normally. _But…_ Cuddy'll be up my ass about it for weeks. I _could _block her out by staring at whatever she happens to be wearing for the next month, but if she goes off on one of her usual rants even that may not be able to stifle her whining."

"But—"

"Go home."

"I can—"

"Even if you weren't sick," House cut him off, "why would you want to stay here and work?"

Kutner blinked. "What?" Thirteen and Taub were watching this with raised eyebrows, heads going back and forth as though they were watching a tennis match, and even Foreman chanced a peek over the top of his book to see Kutner's rapidly loosing battle with House.

House held up two hands in a mock scale. "Stay at home, sleep, and watch porn all day—" (Kutner's eyes widened as he managed to stutter "I wouldn't—that's not—" House spoke over him, switching hands) "—or get bossed around, ridiculed, and overall taken for granted by the entire hospital and all its patients until your drugs run out and you spend the rest of your shift in misery." He pursed his lip mockingly as he reached into his pocket. "I can see why you're having such a difficult time deciding."

Kutner, eyes still wide, shook his head dazedly, trying to find a loophole in the iron-clad logic. House popped two Vicodin in his mouth and swallowed, knowing he had Kutner beat down good.

There was a pause, and then Kutner muttered "Damnit" and left the office, defeated. House smirked in triumph.

He'd gotten his cable back.

.:X:.

An hour later, Kutner was seated on his couch, wrapping up in (three) blankets, in his favorite pair of pajamas (baggy plaid pants and a Beatles T-Shirt) with a box of Kleenex standing guard. _Superman Returns _was on, but he wasn't really watching it, having muted it a while ago. Eyes closed, he tilted his head back and blew air out the side of his mouth, then coughed. He felt miserable. The medicine had worn off and, despite the fact that he'd taken some more, it just didn't seem to be cutting it. Unfortunately, being a doctor meant he was wary ofwhat would happen to his body if he tried taking more than necessary. Having an M.D. was morbid, to say the least.

"_Here it goes, here it goes, here it goes again, oh, oh here it goes again--_"

He reached out, plucked his cell phone off the armrest of the couch and glanced at the caller ID. Mildly surprised, he flipped open the cover and brought it to his ear.

"Uh, hey Thirteen. What's up?"

"_I got off shift a few minutes ago. You need anything?"_

"Um. No."

"_Are you sure?"_

"You're being awfully caring today. What happened, House cut my nearly decimated ego into even smaller pieces while I was gone and you feel sorry for me or something?"

"_Actually, yes. Apparently Cuddy noticed you were sick too and blackmailed House. She didn't want more patients dying. Or something."_

"The cable?"

"_The cable. You sound pathetic, Kutner. Did you take any medicine?"_

"Yes, Mom. And thanks for chopping my self-esteem up and serving it along with my ego."

"_It's true. You're all congested and nasally. It's pitiful."_

"Again, thank you."

"_You're welcome. I'll bring over something. Maybe some chicken soup."_

"I'm fine, you nag."

"_Please. Do you even know how to cook?"_

She had him there.

"Okay then… What time?"

"_I'll be there maybe… twenty minutes?" _He could hear the smirk in her voice. _"Try to clean up in that amount of time."_

"My house isn't that messy."

"_Mm. I'm sure."_

"It's not—damnit, woman." She'd hung up. He stared at the phone, shaking his head. Nag.

He looked around. It was a bit messy, yes, but nothing that wasn't presentable. Just a normal bachelor pad. He stared up at the bike hooked on the ceiling. He ought to ride that thing once in a while. He spent about fifteen minutes straightening up, picking up random articles of clothing, old Chinese food cartons. DVDs. The usual.

About five minutes before Thirteen was supposed to show, his cell made an annoying beeping noise, and he jumped, dropping an empty bottle of Pepsi. Staring down at the outer screen, he raised his eyebrows when he saw the words "Text Message" blinking up at him. He flicked it open.

"Don't forget: bathroom. -13"

"Oh _crap_." Kutner leapt up and tried to run into the bathroom. He tripped over the blankets he'd thrown haphazardly onto the floor, tumbled spectacularly, and smacked his face against the kitchen tile. _"OW! _Holy Christ." He rubbed his nose, checked for blood or a fracture automatically, found none, and continued onwards.

As expected, right on time, the doorbell rang exactly five minutes later, and sure enough there was Thirteen, dressed in a plain XL white T-shirt and black sweats. Aloof wear. She had a knowing smile on her face. "Did you remember to put the toilet seat down?" she said slyly.

He pulled a face.

"Yes."

Thirteen held up the bag she was carrying. "Soup from the local grocery store, green tea, and some medicine. And companionship."

"You hypocrite."

"What?"

"'Do you even know how to cook?' Anyways, I told you I didn't need anything," he said in vain as he stepped by to let her in. "Especially not medicine."

"Day-Quil and Night-Quil," she said calmly, ignoring him. "What did you get, Tylenol?"

"I'm a doctor too," he said, closing the door. "You _do _know that, right? Or have you been deluded for the past year?"

"I know," she replied without missing a beat, walking over to the table and setting the plastic bag down. "But the most annoying thing in the world is for a doctor to treat themselves." She gave him one of her patented looks, not unlike House. "We both know that."

Kutner rolled his eyes. "A common cold? That's _hardly _'treating myself'. Now, say I had tuberculosis or SARS…"

"Wiseass," she said, pulling the Day-Quil out and, without even looking at the directions, expertly popped it open and poured out a perfect dose. "How annoyed would you be if I got a cold and fever and tried to downplay it?"

"Pretty annoyed," he admitted, shrugging and trying to hide a cough. "N-hot…ugh. Not enough to gate-crash your house, though."

"Yes you would. And my point was proven rather well just now." She held out the little cup, and he gave her a look.

"_Please._ I don't need you to—" He stopped when she rolled her eyes. "What?"

She smiled a bit and handed him the little plastic shot glass. "Don't even try."

"…I hate orange-flavored," Kutner muttered sullenly, sniffling before drinking the whole thing in one swing and making a face. Thirteen sighed as she took it from him and put it back in the bag.

"You are such a child."

"Am not." Plopping back down on couch, he patted the seat next to him and she joined him after twisting the cap back on the bottle and placing it back in the bag. While he was waiting for the medicine to kick in, Kutner unmuted the TV. The medicine couldn't work fast enough, apparently, as he leaned over and coughed into his hands, sounding even more pitiful than before, Thirteen watching sympathetically. "I'll go make the tea," she said as he leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, sighing. She got up and rummaged through her bag while Kutner blew his nose and tossed the tissue into the garbage basket sitting readily next to the couch.

Bustling around in the kitchen, Thirteen glanced at the TV, then laughed. "Is that guy wearing _pink _under his sweater?"

He opened his eyes again and glanced at the screen, before looking back at her. "Hey. Pink is a man's color. Don't judge him."

They watched in silence, Thirteen filling up a teapot she'd had the foresight to bring along with water. "The pink guy doesn't talk much, does he?" she asked after a moment. She stuck the pot on the burner.

"Nope." There was a pause. "I think _The Princess Bride _is on." He flicked through the channels, a fist raised to his mouth just in case of another attack.

"You like _The Princess Bride?_" she asked skeptically. "I wonder about your masculinity sometimes."

"I was attempting to appeal to your femininity. But obviously, that didn't work," he shot back sarcastically, and then grinned when she gave him an "Okay, I'll give you that" shrug. "C'mon, who doesn't know _The Princess Bride, _anyways?" He tilted his head theatrically and put on a Spanish accent. "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father."

"Prepare to _die_!" they both finished in unison, and then laughed lightly.

"You know what else was a good '80's movie?" Thirteen said as the pot whistled. "_Ferris Bueller's Day Off." _

"Oh God," Kutner said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "That movie's a _legend. _One of the best quotable movies in history."

"Definitely. I used to have a teacher like Ben Stein's character."

"No way."

"Yup. His name was Mr. Delaney. History. It was like… eighth grade or something." She smiled reminiscently. "He gave us a speech about how he hated giving speeches. First day." Kutner laughed with her as she sat down again, handing him a warm mug of tea. "Thanks. You know, I remember once, I took my dad's car out the same way they did. I didn't total it."

"You didn't?" she teased, and he shook his head, blowing on the mug. "Nope. I still got in a hell of a lot of trouble for it, though."

"I can only imagine. Did you try to reverse the mileage?"

"Sadly, no. I'd already had enough common sense by that time to know that it wouldn't work."

He flicked through a few more channels, both of them commenting on every program they recognized when Thirteen suddenly threw out her hand, catching Kutner's shoulder and nearly spilling the tea. "Wait!"

"Ow. What?" They both stared at the bottom of the screen where the cable-box told them the name of the program. After a moment Kutner groaned. "Oh, not _Titanic._"

"What?" she echoed defensively. "It's an amazing movie. It won eleven Oscars, you know."

"I know, but I don't want you sobbing all over the place."

"I _don't _cry at the end of _Titanic,_" she said, making a face. "It's just a heartbreaking movie. Especially that song." She hummed the chorus.

"Oh please. Every woman I have _ever _met has cried at the end of this movie. And don't hum that; it's depressing."

"_My heart will go o-on!" _she trilled, and he took a playful swing at her, which she easily ducked.

"Is this _really_ coming from the person whose favorite movie is _The Princess Bride_?"

"It's _not _my favorite movie."

"Then what is?" she challenged, poking him. He thought about it for a second.

"I'd have to say… _Independence Day. _You know, with Will Smith?"

"And Jeff Goldblum," she said, nodding. "Yeah. That was a good movie."

"What's yours?"

Like Kutner, Thirteen thought about her choice for a moment. "Hmm. Ever heard of _Across the Universe?_"

He frowned. "The Beatles movie?"

"Yeah."

"I've heard of it; never saw it. Was it any good?"

"Oh yeah. It's sort of like a drug trip, though, but they incorporated the songs pretty well."

"Which one is your favorite?" He gestured to his shirt. "Mine's—"

"Wait, let me guess." She held up a hand, then put it to her forehead. "I'm guessing… _I Am the Walrus?_"

"Joo joo jajoob."

Thirteen rolled her eyes. "Funny."

Kutner beamed. "What's yours?" he asked, looking pleased that she'd guessed correctly.

"_Strawberry Fields Forever." _

"Ah, of course, the immortal Beatles song. Right up there with _Hey Jude._"

"Of course."

For the first time in ten minutes, they both went silent, staring at the TV. It was the famous scene where Leonardo DiCaprio and Danny Nucci stood at the bow, with DiCaprio's cry of "I'm king of the world!" Kutner looked extremely apathetic. "That's a pretty stupid thing to say," he said, breaking the silence. Thirteen looked at him quizzically. "Well," he said in explanation. "I thought it was more of an impact when he and Rose are on the bow, you know, with the 'I'm flying' and the Lady Josephine song?" He frowned at the TV. "Here, he's just relishing in the fact that he was lucky enough to win two tickets in poker. At least later there's a point to the scene. Plus it's what she's singing towards the end, when she's floating on the door."

"For someone who supposedly hates this movie, you seem to really get into it."

He shrugged. "I don't hate it. And on-screen romance is weird. In movies and television, they never really get it right. True love will always have its quirks, yeah, but there'll be bumps along the way every time." He gestured to the TV. "The only bumps they hit are when Rose tries to ignore him and when she thinks he stole the Heart of the Ocean, and they resolve those way too quickly."

"I repeat. You get _really _into it."

"I analyze."

Thirteen smiled, impressed. "Is this what you do in your spare time? Analyze love scenes?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "What spare time?" As if to emphasize this point, his cell started ringing. He plucked it from the coffee table and groaned. "House," he muttered, flicking it open and bringing it to his ear. "I thought you told me to rest."

There was a pause, and then Kutner sighed. "What do you want?" Another pause. "Oo-okay, I'll wait…" he gave Thirteen an odd look.

"_Even if I say it'll be all right, still I hear you say you want to end your life—"_

Thirteen jumped and fished her cell phone out of her pocket, eyes wide, while Kutner gave her a look of shock at her morbid choice for a ringtone. She tiptoed over to the kitchen, out of earshot of Kutner's cell. "House," she mouthed, and flicked her cell open as well. "Yes?"

"_Okay, I've got you and Kutner on speaker over here. Three way call. So no trying to go all secretive on me, whispering and whatnot. Santa's watching."_

Kutner blew air out the side of his mouth impatiently. "Do you really need us? I mean, really?"

"_Of course."_

Not convinced in the slightest, the pair exchanged glances before Thirteen said, "Taub and Foreman are there. _Why_ do you need us exactly?"

"_Why else? I need at least four solid opinions before I beat them all down with a stick and save the day as usual, otherwise it won't be as satisfying."_

"If I hang up on you," Kutner said resignedly, "will I get fired?"

"_Probably."_

He hung his head dejectedly as Thirteen said, "Just give us the symptoms."

House rattled them off for the pair of them, and, predictably, he turned down each diagnosis they tried, claiming neither was right in the head (in less than polite terms, as usual). Both fellows were on the brink of insanity by the time House told them they could be free from his torment.

"_Oh," _he said just before they were about to hang up, _"I'd be careful. Colds are contagious, you know. Like STDs. And there's no condom for mouths. Well, there is, but saran wrap is uncomfortable. " _They could hear the smirk radiating through his voice. _"By the way, _Titanic_ is on TNT. Have fun, kids."_

And the line went dead, leaving the two staring open-mouthed at their phones.

"H…how did he…?"

"I don't know," Thirteen said, sounding not exactly stressed, but pretty close to it as she walked back into the living room, shrugging maniacally. "I don't even know."

They both tossed their cells on the couch, and then plopped down together as one onto the other side, staring at the TV once more. Almost immediately Kutner said, "I can't watch this now."

Thirteen shook her head. "Neither can I."

Kutner raised the remote and flicked the channel. "So… what was your ringtone?" he tried conversationally.

"A Three Days Grace song," she said absentmindedly, staring at the TV.

"Oh."

More silence. It was getting sort of uncomfortable now. It was no secret that House had that ability.

Thirteen tried this time. "Star Trek's on SpikeTV, I think."

"Not til five."

"Marathon today. Or so I've heard."

"Oh."

Even more silence.

Then Thirteen punched the pillow next to her, startling Kutner and making him spill the rest of his tea all over his lap. "Oh for God sakes, we can't let that jerk get to us. That's what he wants us to do, sit here in awkward silence for the rest of the night."

"…ow."

"'Ow?'"

"Yes, 'ow.' As in, 'ow this tea is hot'." He stood up and grimaced, clunking the mug back down on the kitchen table and shaking the excess tea off his hands. "As in, 'what the hell ow.' As in, 'Jesus Christ _ow._'"

She winced as he speed walked into the kitchen to grab a towel, looking like a cowboy with chafed thighs. "Sorry."

"S'okay," he hissed, pressing the towel against his pants and leaning against the counter.

"No, really, I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to."

"You didn't mean to douse my groin in tea? I never would've guessed."

Her cheeks turned pink, and after a moment his skin flushed a dull red color as well.

"Sorry, that was… that was stupid to say— "

"We're even then."

"I guess so."

Another really long silence, then Kutner said, sounding awkward, "…I, uh… should probably go put some new pants on."

"Right."

He shuffled out of the kitchen and through the door to the right, while Thirteen absentmindedly twirled a loose thread on the blanket. After a moment, Kutner came back out, wearing a pair of bright, aquamarine pants with cartoon penguins on them, looking appropriately horrified. "They're the only clean ones," he said as way of explanation, making his way to the couch and instantly grabbing for the blanket to cover the birds. "Everything else is in the wash, and my stupid former-roommate got these as a joke… stop laughing."

It was true. Thirteen was doubled over, trying her hardest not to laugh hysterically, but she seemed to be failing miserably, and eventually she just let it out. "P-penguins," she gasped between laughter when he shot her a wounded look. "I-I'm sorry… but they're p-penguins…"

"Yes, I know they're penguins." He picked up the remote and un-muted it, pouting visibly.

Thirteen wiped some tears out of her eyes and giggled only once before directing her attention to the screen.

"You put _Titanic _back on," she said, the side of her mouth twitching again.

"Nothing else is on," he replied.

The awkward tension, it seemed, had dissipated with the reveal of the penguin pants, because after a second he held out the corner of the blanket and she scooted closer until they were both covered. They watched in comfortable silence for a while, neither ever taking they're eyes off the screen. It was only when they got to the scene they'd discussed earlier that Kutner began to softly sing along with DiCaprio.

"_Come Josephine in my flying machine, and it's up she goes, up she goes—_"

"Movie nerd," she laughed softly, resting her head against his shoulder. He smiled but continued singing even after the scene was over.

"_Balance yourself like a bird on a beam in the air she goes there she goes up, up, a little bit higher oh, my, the moon is on fire…"_

The next morning, Taub asked them, even more irritated then the day before, why they were both humming _Come Josephine in my Flying Machine _with big goofy smiles on their faces.

**.:X:.  
end  
.:X:.**

**A/N:** Hahaha. That was fun. He wasn't originally sick, just tired. But it morphed. Like magic. I swear to God, what I write always somehow has a mind of its own. And it _always _points in the direction of distress of some shape or form. Is this a sign I should be taking anti-depressants?

SubliminalmessageREVIEWsubliminalmessagePLEASEsubliminalmessage ha ha your mind is mine.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. These wonderful characters of _House M.D. _ must be credited to the equally wonderful David Shore. _Superman Returns, The Princess Bride, Independence Day, Titanic, Across the Universe, _and _Ferris Bueller's Day Off, _are credited to their respective owners, as are _Shake It _by Metro Station, _Until the Day I Die by_ Story of the Year, _My Heart Will Go On _by Celine Dion, _I Am the Walrus, Hey Jude _and _Strawberry Fields Forever by_ The Beatles, _Never Too Late _by Three Days Grace, _Come Josephine in My Flying Machine _by Fred Fischer and _Here It Goes Again _by Ok Go. …I think that's it. Yeah. That's it.


End file.
